The Lord Of Mortal Pestilence

Anathema

Storm-lord, the Dreaded One

Poison of our worlds

In times of darkness, of death and decay

he grasps dominion all over

His stench hovers as shame

in the house of fraticide



An impressive depravity of a cadaverous epiphany

A profane blasphemy of the darkest atrocity



Welcome me, mortal beings

to a world a cry of fear

Incursions to evil

shattered are your dreams

My breath, a torrid wind

of immortal pestilence

heaves torment, pain and anguish

suffer in your silence



Chaos, no salvation

misery, no redemption

Twisted minds hold the key

Benevolence, I pray for thee



Drowned in fear, shrouded in black

Mourning eternally in a spiritual lethargy



Every beat of his heart

is a death-toll chiming in a mind

As chimes grow stronger

the earth shudders in his wake

His final lament is a

requiem to the Gods of Darkness

All deep contempt is a

blasphemous sacrilege to his name